Collateral Damages
by Sue Pokorny
Summary: A tragedy takes the Winchester brothers to Nebraska, where they must determine what killed a friend and confront a different kind of demon from their past. Minor character death. Slight spoilers through seson 3.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: A tragedy brings the Winchester brothers to Nebraska where they must determine what killed a friend and confront a different type of demon from their past. Minor character death, slight spoilers thru season 3.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, but if they were……**

**This is almost complete, but I've come to a sad conclusion about myself. I'm lazy. Yes, it's true. I procrastinate and avoid unless I have a really good reason not to. I keep meaning to get back to this and write the last couple chapter – they are all outlined, the dialogue is done, I just need to flesh out the scenes themselves, but I don't. But, I have deduced, if I start posting, the guilt of knowing people are reading and are expecting timely updates and a reasonable conclusion does get me to sit in front of the computer screen and make my fingers do their little tippy tap thing, so….. Yes, I'm using you to force myself to finish this. I appreciate your help. g **

**Without further ado…**

**Collateral Damage**

Sam Winchester leaned back into the cool leather of the Impala's seat and closed his eyes, a soft smile on his face as the setting sun warmed his skin and the cool autumn breeze tossed his dark hair. Quiet moments like this had been hard to come by lately – what with the hordes of demons now roaming the countryside, not to mention his constant search for a way to save his older brother, Dean, from the deal he had made with the crossroads demon to save Sam's life.

His world was constant turmoil… constant action. Always moving, always searching, their lives were constant motion. There was rarely time to just stop and simply breathe. The only opportunity he really had to think anymore was the time spent in the Impala, driving from one job to the next. Sam had never really relished their nomadic lifestyle while growing up, but now he was beginning to understand his brother's need to be behind the wheel of his beloved Chevy, nothing but the open road in front of them.

It was a way to forget. Forget about the hell their lives had become. Forget about the evil they constantly battled. Forget about the pain and danger that lay ahead. Forget about the looming deadline tagged to his brother's soul….

The last one was not something Sam was ever able to put into the back of his mind for long. As the time sped past like the broken yellow lines on the endless highway, Sam found himself watching his brother more and more, picking up on the subtle hints that Dean tried to hide behind a quick smile; the tells that only Sam could decipher… the signs that the deal and its ramifications had his superhero big brother scared to death.

And really, who in their right mind wouldn't be?

Dean tried hard to keep his game face on, and Sam was sure that to the rest of the world, his brother's bravado was convincing.

But Sam knew him better than that.

He knew Dean was scared. He was facing an eternity in Hell – Sam would've been more concerned if he wasn't. But Dean was determined to approach his fate like he did everything else: pedal to the metal, no holds barred. He was going to live what was left of his life to the fullest and take out as many of those evil sons-of-bitches as he could.

It was this determination in Dean's eyes that made Sam double his efforts to find a way out for his brother. There was no way he was going to let the demon take what was left of his family, deal or no deal. They'd already paid enough in this damned war. Sam was not going to lose anyone else.

He was not going to lose Dean.

The muted sounds of AC/DC floated from Dean's pocket and Sam turned his attention to his brother as he pulled a hand from the steering wheel, dug into his jacket and produced the small Chocolate cell phone.

Glancing at the caller ID, Dean raised his brows slightly in surprise. He snapped the phone open and placed it to his ear.

"Hey, Ellen. What's up?"

Sam kept his eyes glued to the older man, frowning as Dean's smile faltered and his brows came together over his eyes.

"Wha… how?"

Sam couldn't make out the other end of the conversation, but he could tell from the way Dean's shoulders suddenly slumped that it was bad news.

"I'm sorry, Ellen."

Dean's voice had dropped to a low whisper, barely discernable above the rush of the wind past the open windows. Sam watched his brother swallow hard, his left hand tightening on the steering wheel as he nodded his head to something said on the other end of the line.

"We're about three hours out." He paused and licked his lips, throwing a glance to Sam, who held up a hand in inquiry. Shaking his head once, he turned his attention back to the road and cleared his throat before continuing. "Yeah, we got it. Ellen…"

Sam couldn't make out the words, but he could hear the rumble of Ellen's voice through the phone. Whatever she said was obviously final since Dean lowered his hand from his ear and closed the phone without another word.

Sam waited a few moments, his eyes moving from the phone, now lying loosely in Dean's hand on his lap, to his brothers profile, hoping for some kind of an explanation. After a few moments, Dean dropped the phone in the seat, raised his hand back to the steering wheel, squeezing until his knuckles turned white.

"Dean?"

At Sam's soft inquiry, the older man finally snapped out of his thoughtful stupor and turned his attention to his brother. His eyes skittered toward Sam, but quickly refocused on the dark asphalt before them.

"That was Ellen."

"Yeah, Dean. I got that." He turned sideways in the seat and leaned forward to get a better look at his brother's face. "What's wrong? Did something happen? Is Ellen okay?"

Dean took a shaky breath and released it as if steeling himself for what he was about to say.

"Ellen's.. no. Not really."

Sam's frustration was growing and he tried to swallow it down. "Dean. What?"

Dean cleared his throat and shook his head, his eyes glued to the road, but Sam was pretty sure it wasn't the asphalt he was seeing.

"She just got word." Dean threw another glance at Sam and pulled the Impala to the side of the road. Roughly shifting the big Chevy into park and cutting the engine, Dean leaned back against the seat and let his hands fall limply onto his thighs. "Apparently Jo was on a hunt near Omaha… Ellen didn't have the specifics, but…." Dean took a deep breath and ran a hand around the back of his neck. "The hunt somehow went south and…"

Sam's eyes widened in concern at the picture his brother was painting. "Jo? Is she okay?"

Dean turned his head toward his brother, but didn't raise his eyes. "Jo's dead."

Sam's breath caught in his throat and he fell back against the seat. "Damn."

"Yeah."

They both sat motionless, staring out into the distance, trying to come to terms with the loss of yet another person who had impacted upon their lives.

When he finally spoke, Dean's voice was low and coarse. "I'm getting real tired of losing people I care about, Sammy."

Sam turned his head toward his brother, trying not to let his mind wander to the fact that in less than a year, there was a possibility he was going to lose everything. "I know," he whispered. "Me, too."

………………………………………………..

It had taken a little over three hours to reach Omaha, neither brother saying much as they both tried to remember the feisty young blonde they had become fond of over the last year. They hadn't really had much contact with her after she had come right out and accused their father of being responsible for her father's death outside of the one meeting in Minnesota, but they hadn't really blamed her for her feelings. Ellen had believed that John Winchester was responsible and that was what she had told her daughter. Whether it was true or not, it hadn't changed the way the boys felt about the Harvelles. They had called John family once and, despite what they believe had gone down all those years ago, Ellen had welcomed them without question. As far as Dean and Sam were concerned, that was as good as blood.

Dean pulled the Impala into a space in front of the Omaha Medical Center. Ellen had given them the location where Jo's body was being held. She had already called a local mortuary to claim the body, but had wanted someone to be there for Jo. She would arrive first thing in the morning to accompany her daughter back home. But it had been pretty clear from the short conversation earlier that she wanted whatever responsible for her daughter's death dealt with as quickly and harshly as possible. The Winchesters had no problem fulfilling that request.

Ellen hadn't known where Jo was staying, but had instructed the hospital to release her daughter's personal effects to Sam and Dean. Hopefully, they would be able to track Jo's case and find something that would tell them exactly what had killed her.

The brothers sat in the car, staring at the main doors of the bustling city hospital, neither making any move to begin the process of saying goodbye to yet another friend.

"You know Jo really had a thing for you."

"I know."

Sam turned to his brother, his head tilted in question. "The two of you… you never…"

"No."

"No?"

Dean shrugged, his eyes still on the people coming and going through the busy doors of the hospital. "It just never… Like I told Jo, wrong place, wrong time."

Sam laughed softly. "That doesn't sound like you."

Dean ignored his brother's jibe. "What can I say? It was just too soon after Dad…. You said it yourself, Sigmund, I was tail-spinning. I was trying to deal with what Dad had done and… I don't know, it just never felt right, ya know?"

Sam smiled sadly, silently cursing the bad timing that seemed to be a constant in their lives. "Well, she still felt something for you." He frowned as scattered memories of the last time he had seen Jo came to mind. "I remember some of the time when I was possessed, and it was pretty obvious she still –"

"Yeah. I noticed."

Sam sighed. "Do you think if you two had met under different circumstances, that maybe you might have… maybe it may have worked out?"

Dean laughed quietly, but there was no humor in the act. "I don't know, Sammy. Doesn't really matter much now."

Sam nodded and lowered his eyes, suddenly finding something incredibly interesting on his left thumb. "I just… God. Ellen, This has to be killing her. To lose everyone…"

Dean glanced at Sam, a sad smile gracing his features as he was reminded how thankful he was to have his kid brother alive and breathing next to him. "Yeah," he said sadly. "I know how she feels."

Sam lifted his head and gave his brother a half smile to let him know that the irony wasn't lost on him. "I just wish there was something we could do for her, Dean. Something to make this easier somehow –"

"Trust me, Sammy, There's nothing anyone can do to make this easier on her. All we can do right now is take care of Jo until Ellen gets here. After that, we'll find whatever it was that Jo was hunting, whatever it was that killed her and we'll take care of it. That's what Ellen needs us to do."

Sam nodded again, his eyes drifting back to his thumb. "I know. This job. It just takes and takes…"

"But it's worth it, Sam."

The younger brother looked up, his eyes searching Dean's for some kind of truth. Mom, Dad, Pastor Jim, Caleb, now Jo. And Dean…. "Is it?"

Dean smiled, reached a hand across the Impala and lightly slapped his brother's shoulder. "It's worth it. Some genius college boy told me that a while back.

Sam pushed his brother's arm away, returning the smile with one of his own, thankful for the brief attempt at levity. "Since when do you listen to genius college boys?"

He gave Sam a cocky grin before pushing open the drivers door. "Oh, I always listen, little brother. It's just that they rarely have anything worth hearing."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Collateral Damages - Chapter 2**

The Winchester brothers followed the short, pudgy lab attendant down the dimly lit hallway to a large set of doors with the word 'MORGUE' stenciled onto the glass. After explaining to the woman at the front reception desk that they were there to identify the body of Joanna Harvelle, they had been forced to wait nearly 30 minutes for someone to escort them to the basement facilities. The lab attendant, who had identified himself as Henry, motioned them through the doors to a smaller room adjacent to the main area, Informing them that Dr. Basil would be with them momentarily, Henry nodded his head with a grim smile and quickly left them alone in the room.

"Nice atmosphere," Dean remarked as he walked the length of the small room, taking in the two small metal folding chairs that were the only furnishings.

"It's a morgue, Dean." Sam responded. "What did you expect, leather recliners and a wet bar?"

Before the older brother could respond, the door opened and an older man in a long white coat entered the room. He quickly flipped a few pages on the metal clipboard he was holding and glanced up at the two young men standing before him.

"Mr. Winston?" He looked over his thick glasses at Dean, holding his hand out in greeting.

"Dean." The hunter shook the offered hand and nodded his head toward his brother. "This is my brother, Sam."

The doctor shook Sam's hand in turn before returning his attention to the information on the clipboard. "I understand you are here to claim the body of Joanna Harvelle?"

Dean cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Um, yes, Her mother, Ellen, called us since we were closer. She's on her way, but won't be here until tomorrow morning." He paused, his eyes falling to the floor as his voice grew noticeably softer. "She didn't want Jo to be alone."

A sad smile graced the doctor's face. "I understand." He motioned toward the door. "If you gentlemen would follow me."

They followed the doctor out into the main room, stopping near the far wall, which was lined with rows of metal drawers. The doctor reached for the handle of a drawer, pausing to look at the two young men, noticing their apprehension. " Are you ready?"

Dean glanced at his brother, whose mouth was set in a thin line. Sam simply shrugged, obviously letting his older brother take the lead on this. He swallowed hard before turning his attention back to the doctor and giving a slight nod of his head.

In a swift movement born of practice, the doctor pulled the drawer open, revealing a still, white-sheeted figure. The outline of the sheet seemed very small, and it took Dean a moment to remember how petite of a girl Jo had been. As the doctor slowly lifted the sheet away from Jo's face, Dean felt his chest tighten and he realized he had been holding his breath, hoping that by some miracle it had all been a huge mistake and the body they were looking at wasn't really Jo.

The blonde hair was lanky and dull, and the face was sunken and ashen, but there was no denying that the body before them was Jo Harvelle.

"Damn," Dean's soft whisper was barely decipherable, but Sam took a step closer to his brother, his sigh letting Dean know he had not been the only one hoping for that miracle.

A muted beep from the phone across the room drew the doctor's attention and he quietly excused himself. Dean simply nodded, his eyes glued to the face of the young girl he had so briefly known. Slowly, he raised his hand and stroked the limp hair that had fallen so gracefully around the girl's shoulders the last time he had seen her.

Minnesota.

After Sam had been possessed by Meg and shot him.

He had promised to call her after she had patched him up.

He never did.

Guilt rose up in his throat and he swallowed hard. Sam was right. Jo had had feelings for him, he'd known it since that first job they'd done for Ellen, and he had seen it when she had fixed up his shoulder after pulling him out of the freezing Minnesota lake. But with everything that had happened with Dad and Sam, then finding out about her dad… well, he knew it wasn't meant to be. He had never wanted to lead her on, so he had pushed her away the only way he knew how. That hadn't changed how she felt, but it was the only thing he could do. And now…

"I'm sorry," he whispered, not really sure what he was sorry about. For pushing her away? For not being able to feel what she had obviously wanted him to feel? For not being there to save her?

Dr. Basil replaced the phone into its cradle and moved toward the door. He opened it and stepped back, allowing a man with dark curly hair to enter the room. The man wore wire-rimmed glasses and a dark gray suit. He shook the doctor's hand and exchanged a few words before turning toward the far wall and quietly approaching the Winchesters.

"Sam," the man held out a hand toward the taller of the two, a gentle smile on his face. "It's nice to see you again."

Sam stepped forward to accept the greeting. "Um, Mr. Crowley? Right?" At the man's nod, Sam looked back toward his brother. "Um, this is my brother, Dean. I don't think you met him before?"

"No, I don't believe so." Crowley stepped to the other side of the open drawer and nodded at Dean, a soft smile of condolence on his face. "I believe you were a little under the weather when last we met."

At Dean's look of confusion, Sam placed a hand on his brother's shoulder and tilted his head toward the new arrival. "Mr. Crowley is a friend of Bobby's," he explained softly. "He helped us with Dad after…"

Dean's breath hitched as memories he had tried hard to bury flooded through his mind.

_Time of Death; 10:41._

The world had closed in on him when the ER doctor had muttered those words. Later, the nurse had explained that his blood pressure had dropped too fast due to shock and his still recovering body had been too weak to compensate, causing him to pass out right there in the hallway outside the room his Dad had died in. Sam had been obviously shaken up, having to watch the efforts to save his father fail, only to feel his brother collapse in his arms. Sam had glued himself to Dean's side as soon as they had gotten him back to his own room and brought him back to consciousness, and Dean had drifted as the loss of his father had begun the slow deterioration of his foundation.

Dean vaguely recalled someone being there, helping Sam take care of the red tape involved with the hospital and the release of their Dad's body, but he had been too lost to actually deal with it at the time and had assumed that Bobby was the one helping Sam take care of the details.

"Dean?"

Dean pulled in a deep breath and nodded toward his brother. "I'm okay." He turned his attention back to the dark haired man and tilted his head in greeting. "I remember you. Thanks for helping Sammy out with everything."

Crowley accepted the statement gracefully. "It's my job to make it as easy and painless as possible." With a sigh, he let his eyes drift to the young woman lying before them and his face showed the sadness he felt at the loss of such a young life.

"Did you know Jo?"

Crowley shook his head at Sam's question. "I never had the pleasure. I did know her father. A fine man." If he noticed the discomfort on the faces of either of the Winchester's, he didn't acknowledge it. Stepping back, he nodded for the doctor to close the drawer, then waited as the man handed him a form to sign.

A few moments later, the doctor left, leaving Crowley and the Winchesters alone.

"I spoke to Ellen earlier," Crowley moved across the room toward a small plastic tub the doctor had showed him earlier. "She instructed me to release her daughter's things to the two of you." He opened the tub and pushed it across the table. "I believe she is hoping you can find some clue as to what kind of hunt Jo was involved in and finish the job."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look of surprise before crossing the room, stopping on the other side of the thin metal table. "You know what we do?"

"Of course," Crowley smiled again and Dean found himself actually liking the soft-spoken man. "Sometimes it can be rather…. difficult… for people in your line of work to do what needs to be done when a loved one passes. I simply cut through the red tape in order to allow you to…." Crowley shook his head. "It seems the need for my services have dramatically increased in the last few weeks."

Again, if he noticed the guilty look that floated between the other two living occupants of the room, he didn't let on.

Taking a deep breath, he waved a hand toward the tub and moved toward the door. "I'll take care of the paper work and leave you gentlemen to your business." He paused, a hand on the door as he turned and looked both brothers in the eye. "I didn't have the opportunity to tell you when your father died, but he was a good man. And a good friend. I can see why he was so proud of you both." With another smile, he pulled the door open and slipped out into the hallway.

Dean stared at the closed door for a long moment as his mind whirled with the memories the night had stirred up.

"Hey," Sam's voice was soft as he leaned toward his brother. "You okay?"

Dean took a deep breath as he nodded his head once. "Let's get to work, Sammy."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Collateral Damages – Chapter 3**

The dark skinned man watched as the two brothers walked out of the hospital doors and crossed the parking lot to an old black Impala. He couldn't help but smile as the Winchesters looked around, apparently oblivious of his scrutiny.

"I've got you now, Winchester." He whispered to himself, his voice betraying his confidence.

As the Winchesters climbed into the Chevy, started the engine and pulled out of the lot, the man started his own car, slowly trailing the big black car. He pulled out onto the street, barely noticing the traffic around him, his dark eyes never leaving his prey.

………………__

Dean pulled the Impala into an empty space in front of room 27 of the Red Sky Motel and cut the engine. Sam looked up from the notebook he'd been reading, trying to decipher the hastily scrawled notes Jo had left behind. They'd found a key and matchbook from the motel, telling them where Jo had been staying and after Crowley had returned, they had decided to leave him to his job and get on with theirs. They would be able to touch base with Ellen in the morning, hopefully with some kind of news about what had killed her daughter.

Noticing that his brother had made no attempt to open the door, Sam slowly closed the notebook and turned toward the older man. "Dean?"

The older hunter blinked a couple of times before taking a deep breath and dropping his eyes from the intense gaze toward the motel room door. He rubbed a hand down his face and turned his attention to his brother, nodding toward the notebook that lay in Sam's lap. "You find anything?"

"Not much that makes sense," Sam admitted with a shrug. "Apparently Jo was checking out a couple of deaths of well-to-do business men."

Dean nodded slowly, his attention returning to the door in front of them, lit ominously by the Impala's headlights. "She find anything tying them together?"

"Just the fact that the cops suspect kids were involved in both deaths."

That got Dean's attention. "Kids?"

Sam nodded. "I'll have to get online and check out some of the police reports and newspaper articles, but apparently both of these men were killed by kids. The cops are putting them down to accidents, but…."

"Hell of a coincidence." Dean finished.

"Yeah."

"Maybe Jo had more information inside." Dean finally flicked off the Chevy's headlights, opened the door and stepped out onto the asphalt parking lot. Without another word, he moved to the trunk and opened it, pulling out a shotgun and his favorite .45. Tossing the shotgun to Sam, he slammed the trunk closed and moved around the car toward the door.

It had been silently agreed that they would gather all of Jo's notes and personal belongings from the room, then find another motel to sort through whatever information she had managed to dig up on the hunt. Dean had made it clear there was no way he was going to stay in the room Jo had occupied. He didn't explain why and Sam hadn't asked, simply accepting that his brother needed to feel detached in order to do the job, and sleeping in the bed that Jo had slept in the night before wasn't going to allow him to do that.

Sam had always suspected that, if things had been different, Dean and Jo may well have hit it off. He could tell that Dean had felt something for the girl, whether it was just a physical attraction or the deeper fact that he didn't have to hide who he really was from her, Sam would never know. But he had noticed how Dean had treated her with respect from the get-go, and that was something his brother only did to people with people he felt a connection with.

Dean didn't connect with many people, Dad, Sam, maybe Bobby. Sam had always known that his brother rarely gave out pieces of himself – probably directly due to losing their mom at such a young age. But Dean had seemed to be okay with showing his true self to Jo and Ellen. Not at first, but he had learned to trust them and they had become part of the elite inner circle that could lay claim to Dean's loyalties. Sam hoped they knew what an honor they had been granted.

He sure as hell did.

Sam pressed himself to the side of the doorway as Dean pressed the key into the lock and opened the door. The room was dark, the faint light from the motel sign across the lot the only source of light. A quick scan of the room revealed nothing out of the ordinary and Dean nodded to his brother, stepping fully into the room. He reached to the side, his fingers searching the wall until he found a light switch, bathing the room in a soft yellow glow.

Sam entered behind him and quickly closed the door. As their eyes assessed the room, they took in the array of clothes strewn about the floor and the bed closest to the door.

"Man," Sam noted with a chuckle. "Jo was a slob."

Dean grinned as he walked deeper into the room, leaving Sam to check the bathroom immediately to the right of the doorway. He made his way to the small desk on the far end of the room, rifling through the papers on the surface.

"Anything?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know. Let's just get everything together and head out." He nodded toward the laptop computer that sat on the desk. "Why don't you get all this stuff together and I'll try to pack up all her clothes and stuff."

Sam nodded, understanding his brother's need to get this done quickly. He could smell Jo in the room, her perfume still lingered in the air, and Sam felt his chest tighten knowing he would never see her again.

"Jo was a good hunter." He held up a printout from a newspaper about one of the deaths, his eyes scanning it briefly as he tried to piece together what could have gone so wrong. "She was careful. How did something like this happen to her?"

Dean paused, his eyes straying to the clutter of Jo's personal belongings scattered on the bed. "That's why Dad never wanted us to hunt alone."

"I know, but still…"

"Sammy. It doesn't matter how good you are. Like I said before, it's a tough gig. Sometimes it's just your time."

Sam straightened and turned to his brother, his head tilted in question. "Do you really believe that?"

Dean's eyes met his for a moment before the older hunter turned away and resumed the packing. "No," he admitted softly. "Not really."

Sam watched his brother for a moment before sighing and turning back to the desktop. He set the shotgun to the side and started to quickly gather up the papers and shove them into the notebook, not bothering to scan the notes or even attempt to keep them neat. Whatever had killed Jo was still out there. They owed it to her to find it and stop it.

It was the only thing left that they could do for her.

……………………………………………….

Dean pulled the black car up to the curb, both brothers frowning at the brick middle school across the street.

"When exactly did they start calling it 'Middle School'? When I was in 7th grade it was just called Jr. High," Dean grumbled as he cut the engine and pulled the keys from the ignition.

"Right, like you even went to class enough to remember you were even in school," Sam scoffed. He shook his head as he baited his brother and stepped out onto the sidewalk, closing the heavy door and leaning across the top of the car.

"I went to class… enough," Dean retorted. "I passed anyway. Besides, helping Dad on hunts was more important than writing an essay comparing and contracting _Heart of Darkness _and_ Apocalypse Now_."

Sam stared at his brother as he slid out of the Impala and leaned across, mirroring the younger man's stance. "Dude, I didn't have that assignment until my AP Lit class senior year. You did that in Middle School?"

Dean shrugged. "Extra credit. Once I turned that puppy in, Mrs. Krazinski never got on my case about my lack of participation in class again. Ended up with a B+ that semester."

Sam just shook his head, grinning at the walking dichotomy that was his brother. Sam knew Dean wasn't stupid, despite the front he put on for almost everyone. His brother was truly one of the smartest, most perceptive people he'd ever known. Anytime Sam had been stuck on something during high school, his brother had been able to break down the problem and put it in terms the younger boy had been able to grasp. Even though Dean had never taken any interest in any of the honors courses, Sam had still been able to go to him with anything. Even if Dean didn't quite understand the problem, he had been able to re-focus Sam and help him devise a new way of looking at whatever had him stumped.

Dean's talent for simplifying a problem in order to find a solution had always been one of the things Sam had admired most about his brother. Whether it had been concerning schoolwork, a hunt strategy or the battle going on within his own family, Dean had always been able to make to things work.

Well, not always.

But that wasn't for lack of trying.

"So," Dean pulled Sam's attention back from his musings. "The kids involved in these deaths both went to school here?"

Sam nodded and leaned in through the open window, pulling Jo's notebook out and opening it to the research.

"According to what Jo found, the two kids the cops questioned were found near the bodies almost immediately after the murders. The men were both strangled. All evidence pointed to the kids being the killers, but neither remembered committing the crimes and the police concluded that neither of them were big enough or strong enough to take down a full grown adult."

Dean sighed and rubbed a hand across his eyes. "So if the kids didn't do it, who the hell did?"

"Who?" Sam shrugged. "Or what?"

"Okay, Abbott, what did it?"

"According to Jo, a demon."

Dean shook his head, his eyes hardening at the answer. "Of course it is. Any idea who we should be looking for?"

Sam shook his head. "Jo was convinced it was one of the kids, but neither of the ones they questioned seemed possessed."

"So, what? A different kid? One that's getting his jollies getting other innocent kids to do his dirty work?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe." He signed as he tossed the notebook back into the car. "Jo already talked to the principal and one of the guidance counselors but didn't seem to get much. Maybe we'll find something she missed." He walked around the car and started across the street toward the school.

"Peachy," Dean muttered under his breath as he pushed off the car and joined his brother. "Wonder if they have any hot teachers?"

………………………………………

Mrs. Fletcher was definitely hot – just not in the sense Dean had hoped. The overweight woman sat behind her desk, her eyes glaring at the two young men who were seated in front of her.

"I don't understand why the police are harassing these poor boys. I thought it was made clear that they were in no way responsible for what happened to those two men."

Sam cleared his throat, throwing a frustrated look to his brother who simply rolled his eyes and looked away, leaving the younger man to take the lead.

"We understand your frustration, ma'am. We're simply following up on the previous information. The two boys have been cleared of any wrongdoing, but we still need to find who or what killed those men, and the connection of these two children to the crime scenes seem to be an unanswered question."

Mrs. Fletcher seemed to consider the young man's statement before nodding and letting down her guard and settling her ample weight back in her chair. "I understand, Detective. You're just doing your job." She smiled at Sam. "It's so nice to see a young man so dedicated to his work."

Sam cleared his throat, ignoring the muffled chuckle from Dean. "Can you tell us if there was anything these two boys had in common, Mrs. Fletcher?"

She pursed her lips and sighed through her nose. "No, not really. Tommy is a straight A student and a member of the band and Math club. Kyle is on the soccer team and the track team. Neither of them really run in the same circles." Her eyes widened a bit as a thought occurred to her. "But I have seen both of them with one of our new students. A new transfer. Came to us a few weeks ago. I did think that a bit strange"

Sam frowned in confusion. "Strange how?"

The woman leaned forward and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "The new boy. Jeremy Sinclair? He's just… he's not someone either of the other two would normally associate with."

"How so?"

"He's just… strange. Kind of…" she looked around and leaned even further over the desk, her ample bosom pressing against the stack of folders on the side of the blotter, threatening to topple them onto the floor. "I know I'm not supposed to make judgements about these kids, but that boy. He just gives me the creeps. Always around, even after school lets out. Most kids can't wait to get out of here after final bell, but I've seen him roaming the halls, just… staring. " She shuddered and sat back in the chair. "I see a lot of kids go through here, detective. But that boy, there's something not quite right about him."

…………………………………..

"What do you think she meant?" Sam asked as they headed for the main attendance office. Since the final bell had rung over an hour ago, there were very few student left in the school. Principal Fletcher had explained that school policy prohibited loitering after school unless they students had a prearranged activity such as a sports team practice, band rehearsal or some other academic club that was supervised by a staff member. She had buzzed the school secretary and asked her to give the two detectives the current address for Jeremy Sinclair on their way out of the school.

"About what?" Dean asked, his attention wandering through the trophy cases along the wall of the hallway. "About the Sinclair kid?" He shrugged as they approached the door marked 'ATTENDANCE OFFICE'. "I don't know. Maybe she just doesn't like kids."

"She's the principal of a middle school, Dean. If she didn't like kids, she's in the wrong line of work."

"Maybe," the older man agreed. "Or maybe she's just a glutton for punishment. I don't really care." He pushed his brother toward the office door. "Just go in there, flash that dimpled grin and get us that address."

Sam rolled his eyes, but did as his brother asked.

The trophy case was filled with large and small statues, some dating back twenty years, declaring the superiority of George Washington Middle School in conference championships. Photos of young teenagers lined up in uniforms of yellow and gold., still gangly and awkward, peppered the case beside the trophies. Dean stopped by an old photo of the Washington Baseball team, a grin tugging the side of his mouth as memories of his own juvenile sports accomplishments flashed through his memory.

"Did you play?"

Dean nearly jumped at the voice from behind him, turning quickly to find himself face to face with a dark haired boy of about thirteen. The kid was tall – not Sam tall, but bigger than one would expect to see in a middle school. His dark hair hung in lank plates around his face, his skin pale in contrast.

"Uh, yeah," Dean recovered, taking a step back as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "A long time ago."

The kid simply looked at him, his head cocked at an angle. "Cool."

The boy stared at him for a few moments, and Dean could feel himself starting to frown.

"Did you need something?"

The boy smiled, but the action didn't reach his dark eyes. "Nope." He took a shuffling step back before turning and sprinting down the hall, disappearing around the far corner.

Dean watched as the kid skidded from view, letting out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. He gave an involuntary shudder as he took a deep breath through his nose, his eyebrows coming together at the familiar scent he detected in the air.

"Got it." Sam held up a small yellow sticky note as he pulled the door to the attendance office closed behind him. Approaching his brother, he noticed the older man's stance and followed his brother's gaze down the empty hallway. "Dean?"

"You smell that?"

Sam took a careful sniff of the air, his eyes widening as he caught a faint trace of a scent.

"Sulphur?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. It's faint, but could be."

Dean hadn't averted his gaze from the deserted hallway, and Sam was starting to wonder if his brother was having some kind of traumatic flashback to his own high school days.

"Dean? You okay?"

Dean glanced at Sam. "Yeah, dude. School always creeps me out. Let's go."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Collateral Damages – Chapter 4**

Sam took a deep breath and rolled his eyes, silently counting to ten in an attempt to reign in his growing annoyance with his brother. It wasn't like they'd been sitting motionless in the car for hours on end staring at the school. It had, in actuality, been less than 30 minutes since they'd started their stake-out, watching the school grounds, waiting for Jeremy Sinclair to emerge.

They had checked out the address the secretary had given them, but it turned out to be an empty lot, so they had driven back to the school in the hopes that Sinclair would still be around.

Sam balled his fists in his lap as Dean began a series of strange clicking and whistling noises, the obscure pattern preying on Sam's increasingly frayed nerves.

Even at the best of times, Dean was not a sit-and-wait kind of guy. No, his brother was action personified. All their lives, Dean had been the one itching to dive into a hunt, guns blazing, restrained only by his unconditional respect for their father's chain of command. Dean preferred raw physicality to cunning and stealth.

Not that Sam believed for a second that his brother lacked in either of those qualities. He knew that by the time Dean was 18 years old, his training and natural instincts rivaled the most highly revered black-ops commandos known – he just preferred to be a cowboy.

And most of the time it worked for them.

Although there were times when Sam needed to find a way to reign in his brother's natural enthusiasm for action; times when they needed to be patient and let the target come to them… like now.

"Dean." Sam's voice hissed as his brother began another chorus of offensive noises.

"What?"

Sam glared at him and took a deep breath through his nose. "Will you just stop? Please?"

Dean sighed, clearly unaffected by his brother's obvious annoyance. "This is a waste of time. We don't even know if this Sinclair kid is involved." He turned back toward the school, his hands rubbing up and down on the tops of his jeans.

"You said it yourself, Dean. That kid was creepy."

"Hell, all teenagers are creepy, Sam. When you were that age, you gave me the willies on a daily basis."

Sam chose to ignore the comment. "Principal ?? said that Sinclair was connected to both of the boys involved in the murders. Right now he's the only real lead we've got."

Dean sighed and rubbed a hand across his forehead. "Yeah, I know."

"You think maybe this Sinclair kid is a demon?"

Dean shrugged, his attention wandering back to the school. "I don't know. I thought I smelled sulphur right before he popped up behind me, but who knows? It could've just been someone's gym locker." He shook his head and turned back toward his brother. "The timing fits, though. He showed up here about the time the Hell's gate opened. People are dying for no reason, lots of unanswered questions. Sure as hell fits the pattern."

A minivan drove by, slowing a bit as it passed the black Impala, and both hunters ducked down instinctively in an attempt to look less obvious.

As soon as the van was out of sight, Sam craned his neck back and forth, making sure there were no one taking any undue interest in the two strange men lurking outside the school.

"Dude, if this kid doesn't show up soon, somebody's likely to call the real cops." 

"Don't worry, Sammy." Dean patted his brothers knee, an innocent grin on his face. "We'll just explain how we're not really creepy pedophiles and that we're just sitting here, watching a middle school, waiting for a thirteen year old boy because we believe he may be possessed by a demon and that we plan on following him home and excorsizing said demon back to hell."

Sam snorted and pushed his brother's hand away. "Right. Like that won't get us locked up in a rubber room at all, Dean."

Dean clicked his tongue, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "Shame on you, Sammy. You're such a glass-half-empty kind of guy."

Turning back to the school, Dean sat up straighter as the object of their stake-out exited the school doors. He had his arm around the waist of a pretty girl with flowing blonde curls. The girl was wearing a cheerleading outfit, her pom-pons trailing from her lax hand. She walked stiffly, a mixture of fear and confusion apparent on her face, as she allowed the dark haired boy to lead her down the cement steps and across the school grounds.

"Dude, heads up. Damien walking."

Sam leaned forward, nodding as his eyes tracked the two teenagers. "Yeah. And from the look on her face, I don't think Buffy there is thrilled about her current choice of companions."

"What do you think? Mind control?"

Sam shrugged, settling back as the pair hit the sidewalk and turned down the street. "I don't know. Maybe. I mean do we really know what demons are capable of?"

Dean frowned and shook his head as he started the car and pulled out onto the street, slowly trailing the young couple ahead. "No. But I'm pretty sure whatever the thing is planning isn't gonna be good."

………………………………..

They were able to trail the teenagers for a few blocks until they abruptly turned into an alley behind a corner drugstore and disappeared. Dean parked the Chevy and the brothers got out of the car, quickly crossing to the mouth of the alley, they snaked behind the store and an old brick apartment building.

Silently communicating his intentions, Dean started down the alleyway, his body pressed close to the back of the brick building as Sam mirrored him on the opposite side of the broken cement surface. Stopping behind a large green dumpster, Dean pulled his .45 and quickly checked the clip, thumbing the safety off. At Sam's look of disapproval, he simply shrugged, conveying his desire to be more safe than sorry.

Slowly they crept down the alley, noting it ended in a blind turn around the side of the apartments. Keeping low, Sam hurried across the alleyway, joining his brother against the brick near the end of the building. With a silent count, Dean nodded he burst around the corner, gun firmly held in front of him as he felt his brother quickly close in behind.

There was nothing.

"Shit!" Dean lowered his gun, his eyes searching the empty space before him. "Where the hell did they go?"

"Um, Dean?"

"What?"

Dean turned suddenly, his expression changing from frustration to surprise when he saw his brother standing a few yards in front of him, his arms stretched out and up in a position of submission. Sam's face telegraphed an apology and Dean quickly understood why.

"Hello, Dean." A tall, lean black man in a dark suit stepped to the side of the taller of the Winchesters, his pistol steady, leveled at Sam's head. "I believe your brother would really appreciate you dropping that weapon."

"Hendricksen," Dean growled.

"Nice to see you, too, Dean." The FBI agent wiggled his pistol, nodding his head at the weapon Dean still held. "Drop the gun. "

Slowly, Dean crouched, placing the .45 on the ground before rising, his hands out in a perfect imitation of his brother's.

"Good," Hendricksen took a step back, placing himself a little further from Sam. "Now, kick it over to me."

Dean complied, his face a mask of indifference.

"Good boy," Hendricksen crooned.

"Look out!"

Dean lunged forward, knocking Sam down as Hendrickson was hit from behind. His gun skipped across the cracked cement and he quickly re-oriented himself, throwing an arm up to block the 2x4 that came streaking down toward his head. Dean rolled off his slightly dazed brother, scooped up his gun and fired toward the cheerleader, who was raising the board for another blow, a distant, blank look in her eyes. The bullet creased her upper arm and she screamed, dropping the wood and falling backward, clutching her wounded limb to her side.

"Drop it!!"

Dean turned to see Hendricksen lying flat on his stomach against the ground, his pistol in his hand aimed directly at Dean.

"I said drop it!"

"She was trying to kill you!"

"I'm not going to tell you again, Winchester. Drop. The. Gun."

Dean shook his head, complying with the agent's demand. Slowly he lowered himself to his knees, locking his fingers behind his head in the most no-threatening position he could think of.

"This is not what it looks like."

"Really?" Hendricksen rolled to his feet, motioning for Sam to join his brother. "It looks like you just shot a teenaged girl."

"One who tried to use your head for batting practice!" Dean retorted.

Hendricksen ignored his outburst and moved toward the now crying, seemingly frightened young girl. She apologized between hiccupping sobs, telling him that she was trying to defend herself from the two men who were following her. Her crying increased and the brothers gave each other identical looks of frustrated resignation as the agent checked the girl's arm, assuring her in a low voice that he understood and that everything was okay.

…………………………………

It only took the local cops a few minutes to respond to the call for back-up that Hendricksen placed. The agent took the precaution of handcuffing his prisoners to the old metal fire escape that hung from the apartment wall, grinning smugly at them as he clicked the cuffs closed.

"I'll be right back, gentlemen. Make yourselves comfortable."

Dean returned the grin, which had the desired effect of slightly unnerving the agent. "We're just peachy. Don't worry about us."

With a final glance at his prisoners, Hendricksen stepped around the corner of the building leaving the two hunters alone in the blind alley.

Sam sighed and bowed his head. "Dean, I don't think antagonizing the guy is exactly in our best interest right now."

"Aw, come on, Sammy. Where's you sense of adventure?"

"Adventure?" Sam's voice rose in pitch. "Dean we're handcuffed to a fire escape in the custody of an FBI agent who, incidentally, wants your head on a platter. I don't really see any 'adventure' in our immediate future, unless you consider the electric chair a whopping good time."

Dean, who was fumbling with something in his boot just pursed his lips, ignoring his brother's outburst, concentrating on his current endeavor. The cuffs made it difficult for him to lean far enough, but he pulled his leg up to meet his hand, trying to keep his balance without yanking his brother's arm through the metal grate.

Finally finding what he was searching for, Dean's face lit up into a thousand watt grin. He held a hand up, producing a small silver key. "Oh yee of little faith." His green eyes twinkled as his smile grew at the look of surprise on his brother's face.

"You stole the key?" Sam rubbed his wrist as the cuffs fell free. He waited while Dean unlocked the restraint from his own wrist, pocketing the key and shoving the handcuffs toward Sam.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, I'm surprised at you," Dean whispered as they quietly made their way to the edge of the building, peering around the corner to see the police cruisers blocking the entrance to the alley. Dean pushed his brother back, his eyes roaming the dead end alley for an alternate means of escape. "Almost every handcuff manufacturer in the United States uses the exact same key. I just went to your local friendly gun shop and bought one. Best ten bucks I ever spent."

Sam shook his head, somehow not surprised his brother would know that. "Well, don't get too cocky, Dean. We still gotta get past Hendrickson and the local goon squad before we can get back to the Impala and get our asses out of here."

Dean crossed to the rickety old fire escape and squinted up at the rusting metal contraption.

Following his brother's gaze, Sam groaned as he realized what Dean had planned. The contraption looked like it would come down if they even breathed on it, let alone used it to climb to the roof of the old building. "You've got to be kidding me."

Dean threw him another grin and slapped him on the back. "Hell of an adventure, huh?"

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Collateral Damages – Chapter 5**

From the rooftop of the brick apartment building, the hunters were able to jump across to the lower, second story rooftop of the adjacent building and scale that buildings fire escape to the ground. From their vantage point on top of the building, they had noted the positions of the two squad cars still blocking the mouth of the blind alley, as well as the four uniformed officers guarding the entryway and the cheerleader as they awaited an ambulance.

To their relief, the Impala was still parked across the side road, in the shadows about a half a block up. It didn't seem as if the cops had taken notice of the black Chevy and they both breathed a sigh of relief as they approached it quietly. Holding a hand out to halt his brother's movement, Sam nodded his head toward the Impala, indicating the movement he saw inside. Silently, both men crouched and in synchronized stealth borne of years of practice, approached the vehicle from both sides.

Hendricksen was, to say the least, a little startled to see the Winchesters as he backed out of the passenger door of the Impala. One right cross from Sam stopped his attempt to call for backup. Sam caught the man as he slumped against the rear door of the vehicle, holding him upright as his brother skirted around the car. As Dean took the agent's weight, Sam reached into his pocket and pulled he handcuffs that had so recently been around his own wrists in the alley and snapped them around Hendricksen's, securing the man's arms behind his back.

Dean pulled the semi-conscious man back a few feet, opened the rear door and pushed him headfirst into the back seat, before hurrying back around the car and diving into the driver's seat. A few seconds later, the big Chevy pulled out onto the street and disappeared around the corner.

………………………………

After ten minutes of dodging from street to street, one eye on the sparse nighttime traffic, the other on the rearview mirror, peeled for any signs of pursuit, Dean relaxed his hands on the steering wheel, confident they had gotten away clean.

Well, almost clean.

A groan from the back seat reminded him of their uninvited guest. Dean glanced over his shoulder as Hendricksen pulled himself up, shaking his head as he took in his situation.

"How's it going?" Dean eyed the agent through the rearview mirror, an innocent grin on his face. "Comfortable?"

"Peachy." Hendricksen growled as he briefly struggled against the cuffs.

Sam glanced back at the agent, an apprehensive look on his face. He turned back toward the front of the car, his head tilted toward his brother. "Dean," he said in a low voice. "This is kidnapping. What's worse, it's kidnapping a federal agent."

"Listen to your brother, Dean. This doesn't have to go bad for you."

Dean's expression changed to one of resignation. "Bad? You think you and your little witch hunt are bad? I've got news for you, Mulder, your kind of bad is the least of my problems."

"Dean…" Sam warned, relieved when his brother seemed to back off a bit. He turned slightly in his seat so that he could face Hendricksen. "How did you know we'd be here?"

The agent settled into the seat, seemingly pleased to be able to gloat a bit about his pursuit of the Winchesters. "I made you and your brother my number one priority, Sam." He explained in a smug tone of voice. "After you boys managed to give me the slip back in Illinois, I made it my mission to learn everything there was to learn about the brothers Winchester. Made a fascinating dossier – you should read it sometime."

"I'm sure it's spellbinding," Dean retorted. "I mean, considering the subject matter and all."

"Uh huh," The agent glared at the older hunter, his disdain for the man obvious before turning his attention back to Sam. "I even went so far as to make a list of all your known contacts. I'll admit you two cover your tracks well, but not all of your 'friends' are as careful. We have a list of 'people of special interest' concerning you two, so when word came down the Omaha police had a body that had been identified as JoAnna Harvelle, well it just rang all my bells and I just knew I'd find you right here in the middle of it."

He smiled as he finished his speech, his eyes dancing between Sam's face and Dean's hard eyes in the rearview mirror.

"We had nothing to do with Jo's death." Sam stated. "You don't have anything on us."

Hendricksen shrugged as best he could in his current position, conceding the point to Sam. "Maybe not, but I have enough to make at least some of the charges against you stick, and once I get you behind bars, I'll have plenty of time to make my case."

Dean chuckled. "Not as much as you think."

HJendricksen ignored the mumbled reply and leaned forward in the seat until his head was nearly in line with the brothers'. He leaned to the left so that he was closer to Dean and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I'm going to enjoy seeing you fry, Dean."

Dean's jaw twitched, his eyes cold and hard. "Yeah? Well get in line."

"Dean," Sam warned, sensing that his brother was being pushed over the line by the agent's taunting.

"No, Sam," Dean shot back, his voice low. "This guy wants to live in my back pocket, maybe he should know exactly what he's in for." They were now in an old warehouse district and Dean pulled the car into the empty lot of a large abandoned building, guiding it around the potholes into a space on the far side, relatively obscured from the main road. He abruptly cut the engine and turned, causing Hendricksen to jump back against the rear seat.

"Let me see if I can lay this out for you, Hendricksen." His green eyes flashed in anger as he pinned the black man to the seat with his glare. "You see you and your obsessive manhunt? Never gonna happen. Forget the fact that we just saved your ungrateful ass from Buffy's psycho twin back there, whatever you think you're gonna accomplish here, tiger, you're nothing but amateur hour compared to what's really going on out there."

Sam relaxed back against the passenger door and shook his head, partially concerned about what his brother was about to do, partially glad that Dean was finally letting out some of the pent up frustration he had been bottling up inside. He was just glad that his brother's target was Hendricksen and not him.

"You have no idea what we're really up against, Hendricksen," Dean continued. "You think that the thought of spending the rest of my life in prison scares me? Hell, that would be a vacation! Not that the rest of my life is gonna be that long anyway. You want to know what really makes me tick? Huh?" At the agents nod, Dean took a deep breath and turned to face him fully. "A couple months ago we allowed an army of demons to escape from hell which we, and other hunters like us, are trying to track down and destroy before they take over humans and wreak havoc all over the place. We've found a few but there are hundreds more out there hiding among normal people who have no clue what's living next door. And, since I made a deal with a demon for my brother's life, I've got less than a year to do finish my job before I go to hell for the rest of eternity. So you can see why the prospect of standing trial for whatever you believe I may have done is kind of the least of my worries right now!"

Silence reigned inside the vehicle, the only sound the harsh breathing coming from the driver's seat. After a few minutes, Sam took a concerned look at his brother.

"Feel better?"

Dean glared back at him, before his eyes softened and his face broke into a slight grin. "No. Not really."

"My, my, Dean," Hendricksen chimed in from the back seat. "That is one hell of a story."

"Shut up, Hendricksen." Sam growled.

The agent ignored the younger man, again leaning forward to bait Dean. "I guess you could try an insanity defense. You almost seem like you really believe it. Maybe you really are delusion, Dean."

Dean shook his head and reached forward, turning the key and bringing the snarling engine to life. "I wish."

……………………………….

After securing Hendricksen to the headboard of the motel bed, Sam and Dean got to work. Since the address they got from the school was a bust, Sam logged on to the internet in an attempt to find any family names Sinclair that may have a son named Jeremy. Finally, after an hour of scouring the records, Sam slammed the laptop shut and ran hand over his face.

"Nothing, huh?" Dean had been going through the local phone book, calling every Sinclair listed with the same results.

"No," Sam sighed. "There isn't any record of a Jeremy Sinclair ever being born in or around Omaha in the last 15 years."

"Great. So he gave them a bogus name." Dean shrugged and tossed the phone book onto the floor. "I guess it would've been too easy to have it use the kids real name, huh?"

A low chuckle began to build from the far end of the motel room. Both brothers frowned and turned toward the third occupant of the room, glaring at the agent who had, despit the handcuffs tethering him to the bed, made himself quite comfortable.

"What the hell are you laughing at, Hendricksen?"

"You two really believe this crap, don't you?" Hendricksen shook his head as he moved his eyes from one brother to the other. "You have no idea what kind of whack jobs you really are."

Dean took a deep breath through his nose and returned the agent's smile. "Oh, we know," he assured the man. He pushed himself off the other bed and grabbed for his jacket.

"Where are you going?"

Dean shrugged into his leather coat, picked up his .45 from the bed abd positioned it behind his back, under his belt. "The only place we've managed to find this thing so far has been the school. That principal lady said she's seen the kid there late, so I figure it's as good a place as any to start looking."

Sam sighed. He couldn't argue with his brother's logic, although he preferred research to physical leg work, it seemed this time they had little choice. He nodded and grabbed his own jacket as Dean made his way to the door.

"What about him?" Sam nodded his chin at the federal agent and Dean reached for the handle to the door. "Maybe we should ---"

Before he could finish his suggestion, Dean had opened the door only to be met by a loud report of a gun shot. Dean's body spun 180 degrees before dropping like a stone to the floor.

"Dean!" Sam instinctively dove for the ground, aware of Hendricksen sliding off the far side of the bed from the corner of his eye. Looking up, he watched as Jeremy Sinclair, his eyes black as night, approached the open doorway from the parking lot, a sinister grin on his face. The demon leveled the pistol toward Dean, who was frantically trying to get his legs under him. His right hand held his left arm tight against his body, red drops beginning to ooze between his clenched fingers.

"Sam!" Dean kicked a silver flask across the carpet toward his brother as he fell back against the side of the bed.

Quickly grabbing the flask, Sam twisted the top open and turned, splashing the holy water at the demon just as it stepped up to the threshold of the motel room door. The demon screamed in pain as the holy water hit, sizzling against its skin, smoke rising, filling the small room with an acrid stench.

The demon fell back, dropping the pistol as Sam rose to his feet and threw more water on it. As the blessed liquid hit it's face, the demon scrambled to its feet and back away from the doorway, quickly disappearing into the darkness.

Sam took a step outside and retrieved the gun before backing into the room and slamming the door shut. He leaned back against the wood, his eyes clenched shut, breathing hard through his mouth.

"Well that sucked."

Sam opened his eyes and grinned at his brother, shaking his head at Dean's habit of stating the obvious. "Ya think?" He stepped across the carpet and tossed the pistol on the bed, leaning down to take a closer look at his brother's arm. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "Damn thing just grazed me." He allowed Sam to pull him up and deposit him on the edge of the bed. As he pulled his hand away and started to work his way out of the jacket, he turned his head toward the agent who's head had popped up on the far side of the other bed like one of those moles in that carnival game.

"How 'bout you, Secret Agent Man?" Dean called. "You okay?"

"What the hell was that?" Hendricksen stood shakily, watching warily as Sam crossed to the bathroom and returned with the first aid kit.

Sam ignored him and opened the kit, helping Dean pull his flannel shirt from his arm.

Hendricksen pulled at the handcuff, anger clearly showing on his face. "What the hell did you douse that kid with, you freaks? Battery acid?"

"Nope," Dean grabbed the flask from the bed where Sam had dropped it. "Holy water." He flicked the flask toward the other bed, the few remaining drops flying at the agent. Hendricksen screamed, his hand quickly rising to protect his face as the water splashed harmlessly against his skin.

Hendricksen's surprise is almost comical. Dean couldn't contain his chuckle and exchanged a glance with Sam, who simply shook his head and started to dab at the blood on his brother's arm.

"It's just water," Hendricksen's voice betrayed his confusion. His eyes were wide as his gaze shifted from his wet but obviously not burned hand to the Winchesters.

"No," Sam said slowly as if he was speaking to a five year old. "If it was just water, it wouldn't work on a demon."

"Demon?"

Dean winced as his brother finished cleaning and dressing the wound. As Sam slapped his brother's shoulder indicating he was done, Dean flexed his arm tentatively before turning and staring hard at the agent.

"Yeah, Hendricksen. Demons. Don't exactly fit into the neat little dossier you cooked up now, do they?"

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Collateral Damages - Chapter 6**

"This is a bad idea." Dean grumbled somewhat under his breath as he guided the Impala down the dark suburban street. After Jeremy Sinclair's 'visit' to their motel room, they decided to step it up and confront the demon as soon as possible. Of course, this left them with the problem of what to do with Hendricksen while they were hunting the damn thing.

Dean glanced into the rearview mirror, scowling at the FBI agent, "Tell me again why

We had to bring him along."

He didn't really need to hear the reasons again. And it's not that he really disagreed with having to deal with their ride-a-long. Since the demon now knew where they were hold up, they couldn't exactly leave the agent there, especially incapacitated and cuffed to the bed. As much as Dean would like to see the man get a nice, close dose of their kind of reality, he knew Sam was right and they couldn't leave him unprotected. And since they couldn't let him go, at least not until well after they had taken care of the demon and skipped town, they had no choice but to haul him along and hope he didn't do anything stupid to screw things up.

"Because," Sam sighed as he repeated the words for what had to be the tenth time. "We can't leave him alone, we can't let him go and he's never going to believe any of this until he sees it with his own two eyes."

"You two really have no idea how delusional you really are, do you?"

Dean breathed hard through his nose, his hands tightening to a death grip around the steering wheel. "He's not gonna be able to see anything if he's unconscious. Which I swear to God is what he's gonna be if he says one more word!"

"Dean, relax."

"Yeah, Dean." Hendricksen's tone was taunting. "Listen to your brother –"

"Shut up!" Sam turned and glared at the man, his voice booming in the small confines of the car. He waited for Hendricksen to sit back into the seat before taking a deep breath and returning his attention to his too tense brother. "This is the only way to make him see for himself, Dean. It's the only way we're gonna convince him that you're not what he thinks you are and get him off your ass."

Dean sighed, knowing full well his brother was right. He glared at Hendricksen again, before shaking his head, resigned to having the agent along for the ride. "I still say it's a bad idea."

"So you've mentioned," Sam mumbled. "Over and over."

He scrubbed a hand across his face and turned back toward the front windshield as Dean pulled the big Chevy into a space across from the school. Since Jeremy Sinclair didn't seem to have any other address, and they'd never seen him anyplace else other than earlier at their motel, they figured the school must be his base of operations. The principal had mentioned seeing the kid there at all hours, so it was the best guess they had at the moment.

"So," Sam tried for a calm tone of voice. "Do we have a plan?"

"It depends."

"It depends?" He tilted his head toward his brother. "Depends on what exactly?"

Dean pursed his lips and gave a slight shrug as he killed the Impala's engine. "Well, it depends if what you mean by 'plan' is a surefire actually executable thing, or a kind of vague idea sort of thing."

Sam sighed, knowing he wouldn't like where this conversation was headed. "Right now, I'd take the vague idea kind of thing."

Dean bobbed his head. "Okay. We find the demon, trap it and send it back to hell."

Sam's eyebrows rose, disappearing under the fringe of hair. "That's it?"

The elder Winchester held a hand up in defense. "Hey, it's not like I had a lot of time. Besides, you're supposed to be the brains of this outfit, Sparky. Just ask Agent Smart back there." He hooked a thumb toward the back seat, his eyes turning to scan the darkness outside the window.

"You two are so disappointing."

"Shut up!"

Sam sighed again, his fist clenching as he silently counted to ten so as to not take a swing at the fed or his brother. "So how are we gonna trap it? I doubt they'd appreciate us drawing a devil's trap on the gym floor."

"Holy water?" Dean suggested. "It's a demon, but it's in a kid's body so it might not be as strong as the ones we're used to. I should be able to keep it busy for a little while, but you're gonna have to read fast."

"Uh uh," Sam shook his head. "That's too dangerous, Dean. There's got to be a better way to do it than letting it throw you into walls."

Hendricksen chuckled in the shadows of the back seat. "Sounds like entertainment to me."

"Shut up!" Both voices roared from the front seat as the brother's finally turned to confront their passenger. Hendricksen jumped back quickly at the stereo command, looking from one brother to the next.

After a few moments, Dean decided the agent was going to comply with their rather forceful request and turned back toward the front of the car. "Besides," he continued as if they'd never been interrupted, "if worse comes to worse, we've got the Colt."

"Dean, he's just a kid."

Dean sighed and glanced at Sam, his eyes not able to hold his brother's. They didn't want to kill the innocent kid, but sometimes… well sometimes they knew that it was unavoidable. It was a war and every war had collateral damage. "I know. Like I said, Sammy, talk fast."

Sam suddenly sat up straighter, his eyes squinting into the darkness beyond the Impala. "We don't have much of a choice," he agreed tilting his chin toward the dark figure that was quietly making its way into the darkened school. "There he is."

They watched as Jeremy Sinclair pulled open the locked door with inhuman strength. Sam pulled a shotgun from the floor of the, checking to make sure the rock salt cartridges were loaded. He watched as Dean pulled the Colt from the seat between them, opened the chamber and spun it once before snapping it closed.

"You two are not going to shoot that kid." Hendricksen's voice was laced with contempt.

"Not if we can help it," Sam replied.

"You're both crazy!" The agent tugged at his bonds. "This has gone far enough! I can't let you do this."

Dean turned and leaned an arm across the back of the seat, the Colt lightly grasped in his hand. "Listen, Hendricksen. I'll make you a deal."

"A deal?"

Dean nodded. "You give us 30 minutes. If you still think I belong behind bars or in a padded room eating oatmeal through a straw, then I'll come along quietly."

"Sure you will." Hendricksen spat. "But that's not going to help that kid in there now, is it?"

Dean sighed and shrugged, shaking his head sadly. "Sam and me are the only chance that kid has. You might as well accept that right now."

"Dean…"

The older hunter ducked his head and ran his left hand over his eyes. "No, Sam. This dick wants to judge me? Judge us? Then let's let him really see the truth. Let's let him see what we're really fighting."

"I know. I agree." Sam raised a hand to stop his brother's retort. "I just don't think…"

Hendricksen interrupted, leaning forward, his dark eyes boring into Dean's. "You really think something is going to happen in this fucked up scenario that is going to make me change my mind about you two freaks?"

Dean met the agent's gaze. "I'm counting on it."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Collateral Damages – Chapter 7**

Dean held the shotgun on Hendricksen as Sam quickly un-cuffed the man's hands and re-secured them in front of him. The agent wasn't happy about the situation, but was in no position to do anything about it. He had agreed to Dean's terms, doubting the sincerity of the deal, but hoping that he would be able to do something to stop the brother's before they harmed the kid or anyone else.

He followed them as they quickly and quietly made their way to the front of the school, marveling at their precision and training. If he had more men trained like these Winchesters, there would be fewer men like the Winchesters still out running free. The irony of that fact wasn't lost on Hendricksen.

He watched quietly as the brothers worked together like a well-oiled machine, each taking point in turn, covering for the other as they made their way into the school and down the dark corridor. They were both armed; Sam with the shotgun and Dean with a silver automatic. They both held flasks of the liquid they had flung at the kid at the motel room.

He still hadn't figured that one out.

It had burned the kid like acid, yet when Dean had flicked it at him, had shown it to be nothing but water.

Holy water. Or so they had informed him.

But how could simple water – holy or otherwise – burn human flesh? He couldn't deny what he had seen. But demons? There was no way he was going to allow these two to suck him into their delusions. It had been a trick. He didn't know how they did it, but he was still convinced they were dangerous psychopaths and he was going to take any opening he could find to stop them.

As they neared the attendance office, Dean stopped abruptly, holding up a fist to signal the others to stop. They ceased their forward motion, listening for any sign of movement in the hallway. A faint squeak brought their attention to their rear and both brothers brought their weapons up to bear on the young teenager who had suddenly appeared behind them.

"You're not supposed to be on school grounds after dark," the demon masquerading as Jeremy Sinclair said with a smirk. "It's against school policy. You're going to have to leave."

"After you," Dean responded.

Jeremy's grin grew and his eyes clouded over as the demon came to full strength. "I don't think so."

Before any of them could react, the demon waved a hand and all three flew down the hallway. Hendricksen landed against the office door, the flimsy wood giving way causing him to tumble into the room. Pulling himself to his knees, he leaned out in time to see the older Winchester go flying into the trophy case, shards of flying glass raining down around him as he fell to the ground.

"Exorcizo te, immundisime spiritus, omnis incursio adversarri,…"

Sam's voice rang out over the din of the crashing glass, his recital obviously from memory as he cocked the shotgun, bringing himself to his feet. He moved quickly, inserting himself between Sinclair and his brother as he continued to spout the Latin ritual. He chanced a glance back at his brother who was still moving – albeit slowly – disoriented after his headfirst dive into the trophy case.

That was a mistake.

Sinclair advanced, almost to fast to actually see. One second he was twenty feet down the hall, the next he was right in front of Sam, wrenching the gun away and grabbing the young man by the neck, effectively cutting off the stream of Latin words.

Hendricksen's eyes widened in shock as he watched the scrawny thirteen year old kid pick up the 6'4" man with one arm and toss him into the far wall as if he were nothing but a rag doll.

"What the hell?"

The kid – the demon – turned at the sound of Hendricksen's voice, his head tilting at an unnatural angle as his dark, empty eyes found the man. An evil smile lit its face and it took a step toward the doorway.

Hendricksen fell back on his butt, frozen in the frame of the door as the thing advanced. He could no longer reconcile it as human. The black eyes, the inhuman strength, the pure evil it generated… he didn't know if he was ready to believe in demons, but he couldn't deny that the thing before him was the true definition of one.

An angry growl from behind the demon caught its attention and it turned in time to take a splash of holy water to its face. It screamed, covering its face with its hands giving Dean the opening he was looking for. Holding the silver trophy high, he swung it with all the force he could muster at the demon's head.

"Sam! Keep going!"

A cough and wheeze of breath was the younger man's only response. Hendricksen turned to see Sam on his knees, one hand clamped around his neck, his face grimacing in pain.

The demon, sensing Dean's assault, grabbed the older hunter by his extended arm, stopping the heavy trophy before it could make contact. With an evil screech of its own, it wrenched Dean's arm behind him. The hunter screamed in pain as his shoulder audibly popped, eliciting a demented smile from Sinclair's face.

The demon allowed the hunter to drop at its feet, its black eyes never leaving its victim's writhing form.

Hendricksen glanced around him, finally noticing Dean's .45 only inches from his foot. He grabbed the gun, balancing it carefully in his cuffed hands.

"Freeze!" he yelled, the act as ingrained in him as breathing.

When the kid turned toward him and advanced, Hendricksen fired instinctively. Two rounds hit the kid square in the chest, causing him to step back, but not go down.

"That's not possible…" Hendricksen breathed as the kid advanced toward him again, a look of sadistic glee on his face.

………………………..

Dean groaned as his shoulder hit the floor. He knew the damn joint was dislocated the moment the demon twisted it and he'd felt it pop. His agonized scream had drowned out the actual pop of the joint in his own ears, but the agony that quickly fired its way down his back and up his neck blinded him and he dropped immediately to the hard tile floor.

On the bright side, it managed to completely erase the discomfort from the bullet graze he had suffered earlier. _So hey, there was always a silver lining._

He heard the sound of Hendricksen's voice as the federal agent yelled at the demon to freeze and Dean almost laughed at the absurdity of it. _Yeah, Denzel, that's gonna work. Don't forget to mirandize him, too._

He jumped as he heard the bark of the gun, recognizing it as his own .45.

He forced his eyes open, blinking to clear the dark haze around the edges. Hendricksen was frozen like a statue, the .45 raised toward the demon as the thing slowly advanced toward the agent. Knowing there was no way he would be able to lift the Colt in his condition, let alone aim and shoot the damn thing, he rolled to his stomach and used his good arm to pull it from his coat. Scanning the hallway, he found his brother, still on his hands and knees, but breathing, his hand partially covering a painful looking welt around his neck.

"Sammy!"

With a grunt of pain, Dean slid the Colt across the tile floor to his brother, who scooped it up, aimed and fired in one smooth movement.

The demon screamed as its body lit up from the inside, convulsing as the bullet worked its magic. Finally, it fell to the floor dead.

Dean dropped his head back to the floor, gathering his strength to push himself up with his good arm. Scooting forward the few inches to the wall, he leaned heavily against the cool plaster, pulling his left arm into his lap and cradling it close to his body with his right.

Hendricksen let the pistol drop from his hand onto the floor and leaned into the doorframe a few feet to Dean's right. He looked slowly from the dead body of Jeremy Sinclair to Sam, who had made it to his feet and now stood across the hallway from the two older men.

"You killed that kid," the agent whispered.

Sam swallowed hard, and nodded. "It was a demon." His voice was cold and hard and brought a chill to Dean's spine. "You saw it yourself, Hendricksen. It wasn't human." Sam's eyes found his brother's and held for a moment before he looked away.

Hendricksen's eyes moved back to the body lying on the floor. Dean watched the man for a moment, finding himself actually feeling sorry for the agent. Most people didn't want to know about the things they hunted. Most people were better off keeping their heads in the sand. Dean always regretted seeing someone learn that evil really did exist – even if it was someone who had become a real pain in his ass.

"Sometimes we can save them, sometimes we can't," Dean said, his low voice echoing in the now silent hallway. "We didn't start this war. But we're gonna do everything we can to end it."

Hendricksen raised his head and stared at Dean. He held the young hunter's gaze as if reassessing and trying reconcile what he'd seen tonight with everything he'd believed. Finally he nodded and dropped his eyes. He slid the .45 across the floor to Dean who raised his brows in surprise.

"I still don't like you." Hendricksen growled.

The corner of Dean's mouth turned up in a smirk. "I'll cry myself to sleep."

………………………..

Dean winced as he tried to find a comfortable position on the bed. Hendricksen wasn't thrilled about them leaving and disappearing into the night again, but the man had been more than a little shell shocked at the events of the evening, and hadn't really had the strength or conviction to keep them there. Finding out that demons were real had messed with the agent's black and white view of the world. Good and evil now had an entirely new meaning for the man, and Dean couldn't help but feel a little sympathy for the abrupt way he'd been introduced to the real war raging out there.

Of course, he also found it incredibly amusing and just a little bit satisfying.

They had taken off, leaving Hendricksen to figure out how to explain everything. Dean had no idea how the man would keep them out of it, or if he would even try. For all they knew, it could be just another note on the infamous Winchester Brother's hit parade. But even if Hendricksen did try to pin the kid's murder on them, Dean had the satisfaction of knowing that the FBI agent now knew the truth. He just hoped like hell the man had the integrity to acknowledge it.

The sound of the key card in the door caught his attention and he rolled his head against the headboard, watching as his brother entered the room, pocketing his phone as he closed the door behind him.

"I talked to Ellen," he informed Dean as he shrugged out of his jacket and dropped bonelessly onto the other bed. Sam's voice sounded like he had a throat full of gravel and he sported a painful looking bruise around his neck.

"How did she sound?"

"Like someone who just lost everything."

Dean simply nodded, knowing there was really nothing he could say.

They had driven about twenty minutes to a motel in a small town just outside Omaha. Sam had managed to pop Dean's shoulder back in place – an experience neither brother wanted to repeat ever again – and bind it to his torso with an ace bandage. He'd fashioned a sling out of an old t-shirt to give the arm some support and had croaked an order for Dean not to move from the bed of the motel room.

Sam had disappeared to the Quick-Trip across the street, returning minutes later with a plastic bag and a small styrofoam cooler filled with ice. From the small plastic sack, he had pulled a box of gallon sized zip lock bags and filled one with ice, carefully laying it over his brother's swollen shoulder. That was followed by a king sized bottle of Advil of which Dean gratefully accepted four, downing them with a rootbeer from the cooler. After Dean had assured him, rather forcefully, that he was fine and as comfortable as he was going to be with a dislocated shoulder, Sam finally relented, pulling an apple juice from the cooler for himself, taking a few careful swallows.

Neither of them had wanted to call Ellen, but they both knew it had to be done. She would want to know that Jo's killer had been taken care of. It may not be much, but hopefully it would give her some kind of peace.

Dean had volunteered, considering the state of Sam's voice. But reaching for his phone had nearly caused him to pass out as his shoulder shifted against the mattress, and Sam had taken pity on him and offered to make the call himself.

Waiting a few more minutes until the pain killers began to kick in, Sam had watched as Dean's eyes began to droop before letting himself out in an attempt to give his brother a chance to sleep.

Of course, the second the door clicked shut, Dean was again wide awake, waiting for his brother to return.

"I told her we'd take the rest of Jo's stuff to her."

Dean nodded, squeezing his eyes closed as Jo's face flashed into his mind.

"You okay?" Sam asked, misinterpreting the pain on Dean's face as physical.

"I'm fine, Sam."

Sam sighed, expecting the answer. He sat up, scooting back until he was supported by the headboard and folded his hands on his lap. With his head bowed, he quietly voiced the thoughts that had been swirling in his head since they'd found out about Jo.

"Dean, I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"This is all my fault."

"What?"

Sam winced at the edge in his brother's voice and shrugged. "The demon army escaping, your deal, Jo… it's all my fault."

"How'd you figure that?"

Sam took a shaky breath and rubbed at his eyes before letting his head fall back to thump against the headboard. "If I'd just killed Jake when I had the chance… none of this would've happened. If I'd just been stronger…."

He let his voice trail off as he heard his brother shift on the other bed. Dean grunted in pain, but forced himself off the mattress, shifting across the small space to sit on the edge of Sam's, bringing them face to face. "Sammy, listen to me." His voice was soft, but demanding, giving Sam no choice but to focus his attention on Dean. "This is not your fault. You_ couldn't_ kill Jake. Okay? Because you're not a killer. It's not in you and I hope to God it never is. What happened happened, and yeah it sucks, but it is Not. Your. Fault. You hear me? Sam?"

Dean ducked his head in an attempt to connect with Sam's eyes, and the younger brother smiled at the sincerity on Dean's face. "Yeah, I hear you."

"Good," Dean said as he pushed himself off the bed and re-settled with a groan into his. "Besides, there is a silver lining to this whole thing. At least Hendriksen won't be dogging my ass anymore."

"Do you really thing he's gonna just give up?"

Dean grinned as he closed his eyes and made himself as comfortable as possible. "Dude, the man just killed his first demon. I think he's got a few things to work out for himself before he decides whether or not to come after me."

……………………….

The next morning found them on the road, Sam behind the wheel, as they made their way to Ellen's newly constructed roadhouse. They sat with Ellen, remembering Jo, both boys listening as the woman told them story after story about her daughter.

The Roadhouse wasn't yet ready to open, but Ellen pulled a bottle of whiskey from her stock and three shot glasses. By the time the bottle was half gone, the three of them were lost in the melancholy of memories.

Sam had tried to drink the whiskey – Ellen had brought out the good stuff – but the alcohol had burned his already sore throat and he had managed just enough to give him a pleasant buzz and dull the ache in his neck. He'd slouched down in his chair, content to listen to Ellen recall memories of Jo's childhood and nod along to Dean's recollections of their own.

After a comfortable silence, Ellen cleared her throat and leaned forward, her eyes clear and unwavering on the two hunters. "I owe you boys an apology."

The Winchesters exchanged twin looks of confusion. "For what?"

Ellen shrugged at Sam's question. "For a lot of things." She took a deep breath and sat back in her chair, one arm balanced on the table, her hand slowly twirling the empty shot glass. "I misjudged you."

Dean sighed, far too relaxed to get caught up in what could prove to be an emotional and intense conversation. "Ellen, you don't –"

"Yes," she interrupted. "I do." She poured another shot and quickly downed it before gathering her thoughts and leveling her eyes at Dean. "And I want to thank you."

"Thank me?"

Ellen nodded. "There were a lot of men who came through this place. A lot of a type that I didn't want for my daughter. Some would come on to her and some she would lead on. I was afraid for her on more than one occasion."

"Jo could handle herself."

"Yeah, I know. I taught her well. But still, I didn't want her to get involved with a hunter. I didn't want her to live my life. I wanted more for her."

Sam smiled sadly. "I think that's what all parents want for their kids." He glanced at Dean, who returned it with a look of surprise. Sam just shrugged and returned his attention to Ellen.

"You know she had a real thing for you," Ellen said, her words pulling Dean's attention away from his brother.

Dean shifted in the chair uncomfortably. "So I've heard."

"I saw it the minute she laid eyes on you," Ellen grinned at the memory of their first meeting with the Winchesters.

"All I saw was the rifle she was holding on me."

"Like I said, I taught her well." Ellen's face became serious as she leaned forward onto the table. "I appreciate that you didn't take advantage of her, Dean. I know you were aware of how she felt, maybe you even felt something back, but you didn't press it. I don't know why, but you didn't and I'm grateful."

"Because her mother scared the hell out of him." Sam offered.

Dean tilted his head as if thinking about it then nodded slightly. "That's possible."

Ellen laughed softly. "Funny. Don't think I didn't have a few nightmares about the pitter patter of little Winchesters running around my feet either.

Sam laughed out loud at the stricken look on Dean's face at the suggestion. The look was fleeting and Dean quickly recovered. "I think I've been insulted." After a few minutes, and another round of whiskey, Dean continued. "I wish I could've been there for her, Ellen. I really wish I could've given her what she needed but…" He swallowed hard and glanced at his brother. "Me and Sammy, we were just getting over Dad and… I don't know. Everything seemed so screwed up. Still does."

The conversation was heading down a path that none of them wanted to go and Ellen excused herself to check on a few things, leaving the two brothers alone to ponder what could have been and what was still left to be. When she returned, she was more composed, more closed off, and both Dean and Sam knew they had gotten a glimpse of the woman few people were ever privileged to see.

She had invited them to stay, but they insisted that they needed to keep moving until they figured out if Hendriksen was going to pursue them or not. As they made their way out to the dirt parking lot, Sam gave Ellen a hug, telling her to call if she needed anything. She patted him affectionately on the arm and thanked him for bringing her Jo's belongings.

As they watched Sam shuffle out to the Impala, Dean cleared his throat and ducked his head. "Ellen, I'm sorry . About Jo, about Dad…"

"I know," Ellen hooked an arm through Dean's as they slowly stepped down off the porch. "But there's nothing to be sorry for, Dean. I forgave your daddy a long time ago. And as for Jo…" She turned to him, her lips curling into a sad smile. "You know as well as I do that my daughter was gong to do whatever she wanted to do and nothing or no one was going to change her mind."

Dean chuckled, his head bobbing in agreement. "She was stubborn."

"That's one word for it."

Dean kicked at a tuft of dirt with his boot and took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to ask. "Listen, Ellen. I know I have no right to ask anything of you…"

Ellen hooked a hand under his chin and forced him to meet her eyes. "You boys are the only family I have now. I hope you know that I'd do anything for you."

Dean smiled in gratitude, but dropped his eyes as he tried to find a way to express what he needed. "When the time comes… Sam's gonna need someone…" He never really let himself acknowledge the fact that he was going to die in less than a year – especially not out loud. If he didn't say it, it wasn't really real, right? But he needed to know Sam would be okay. And even if he wasn't exactly 'okay', Dean needed to know that his brother wouldn't be alone.

"Dean if you're asking me to be there for Sam when you…" Ellen sighed and swallowed hard at the sheer desperation in the young man's eyes. "You know I will be. But I hope like hell it doesn't ever come to that."

Dean sighed in relief as the weight on his shoulders lessened a tiny bit. "I know. Just…" he looked out into the parking lot, seeing Sam resting against the open door of the Impala, his eyes, even from the distance, locked onto Dean's. "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, huh?"

Ellen laughed, shaking her head from side to side. "He's a Winchester," she pointed out.

Dean returned the smile. "Good point."

The End

**Thanks to everyone who stuck with me to the end!! I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to drop me a line and let me know what you think!!**


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